


Over The Counter

by CheekyBrunette



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:20:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheekyBrunette/pseuds/CheekyBrunette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Seriously,” Harry drawls, wiping out a glass mug, “Why don’t you just talk to him? He’s tiny and cute, he’s not going to bite.” </p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous.” Zayn snorts, playing with the edge of his frayed sleeve, “I’m not worried about Niall, I’m worried about his guard dog slash best friend with the glasses. Besides, I’m just a barista that spends his spare time in the cafe he works in and he’s a professor, at his age! Don’t tell me what to do.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over The Counter

It's a little bit funny because Zayn _hears_ Niall before he sees him, and it doesn't even mean anything, but his heart _still_ goes a little bit wonky in his chest.

He's busy making a steamer when this incredibly _loud_ Irish lilt fills up the entire shop, and Zayn sort of fumbles with the lid of the cup.

He couldn't even tell you why because it's supposed to be love at first _sight_ , not love at first _sound_ , and maybe that's why Zayn's just the slightest bit scared to turn around, not that he would ever admit it. And maybe that first day he _wouldn't_ have turned, except he has this stupid, _stupid_ steamer to give to some stupid, _stupid_ snot-nosed kid who can't even handle _real_ coffee, so Zayn actually has to look.

He _has_ to.

And he's not disappointed. Maybe confused, but not disappointed. Because when he looks at the Irishman he's already so invested in–and he knows it belongs to the boy he's looking at because the dorky-looking brown-eyed boy next to him has carried on his conversation about how "Yeah, fair enough, Alice Munro definitely meant a lot to the women of her time, and her writing is certainly something that can be taken as more than just surface value, but, you've gotta agree, she's fucking _boring_ "- Zayn has to admit he's a little shocked to find an absolutely _tiny_ little thing with a weird mix of blond and brown hair and a brilliant blue bowtie to match his eyes.

It sort of throws him off (though he's already itching for a pencil and paper so he can scribble every little bit of him down), and when Harry relays the boy's coffee order, Zayn makes it wrong four times – _four fucking times-_ because his head is up in the clouds somewhere.

He thinks maybe Cloud 9, but Zayn's not ready to get that cheesy about this, yet. Not when he doesn't know the name of the boy he's so enamored with, and not when he's probably never going to see this kid again aside from in his sketchbook.

Still, that doesn't stop the word from rolling _deliciously_ off his tongue when he calls him up to get his white chocolate mocha (now _there_ 's a drink order).

 _Niall_.

Zayn likes it. He likes it too much for a first encounter. It feels right on his lips when he says it, like maybe he was always meant to. Louis is always giving him crap about his "philosophical moods", but Zayn is starting to believe in this whole soul mates thing, and his roommate is going to be hearing about his findings tonight for sure.

"Thanks, mate," Niall – _Niall, Niall, Niall_ \- says as he takes his coffee from the counter as Zayn sets to work on blundering the dorky-looking brown-eyed kid's coffee, and Zayn's heart skips a beat. His first time being spoke to by _the voice_.

Zayn knows it's barely been minutes, but he feels like he's been waiting for Niall to say something to him forever.

"Eh, it's my job."

* * *

Zayn is admittedly a little stressed when Niall doesn't show up exactly at opening the next day. Which is stupid. Because the coffee shop opens at five in the morning, and Zayn hadn't seen Niall until two in the afternoon. Also, it was Sunday. And unless Niall was also a poor artist/barista whose managers didn't understand the concept of sleeping on _the day of rest_ , then there was pretty much a one hundred percent chance that Zayn would not be seeing him this morning.

But at the same time, he'd ranted to Louis all night long about finding _the one_ , and he doesn't think he could take the teasing he'd receive if he never saw Niall again. Seriously. Zayn doesn't keep up on all that "halal" shit that he's supposed to, and he's probably the worst Muslim to ever walk the earth, but he's still inwardly praying to Allah that Niall will show up today. And hopefully at some time _before_ two.

His prayers are answered.

Niall walks in at ten, which is _perfect_ because Zayn works until three, and he definitely needed something to help him through the midway hump. It doesn't even matter that Niall's with that dorky-looking brown-eyed kid with the glasses from yesterday. The second he sees him, Zayn's feet stop hurting and his eyes open up fully for the first time since he's woken up.

Harry nudges him in the side, and Zayn really hopes Niall didn't notice the smirk the curly lad is giving him.

"What can I get you?" Harry asks, and is it just Zayn, or does Harry sound a bit like a pedophile. He shifts awkwardly next to the other boy, waiting for an angel to come down and smite him (except the angel is already here, and his name is _Niallniallniall)_.

"White chocolate mocha, if you wouldn't mind," the boy with Niall answers, and Zayn kind of wants to roll his eyes. Big whoop, dorky-looking brown-eyed kid knows Niall's coffee order. So does Zayn, but he's not bragging. "And I'll take an orange juice."

Harry rings the two up and elbows Zayn in the ribs again. "Hear that, Zaynie? _White chocolate mocha_ ," he says, and Zayn doesn't even actually know what Harry's _doing_ right now.

He messes up Niall's order four times again before giving it to him.

"Nia-" he starts to call out loudly before turning around and jumping back when he sees the Irish lad already at the counter. "Niall," he _stupidly_ breathes, and the other boy smiles.

"Ah! You don't know how much I needed this!" Niall says excitedly, grabbing the cup –holy shit- directly from Zayn's hand, their fingers brushing. Harry mockingly swoons at the register while Zayn focuses on trying to catch his breath. Niall needed this. Niall needed _him_.

"No problem," Zayn mutters, somewhat dazed, and then the dorky-looking brown-eyed kid is at Niall's side, and Zayn's heart kind of pangs at the idea of them dating, but he somehow manages to continue to breathe.

"I thought we put in 'Liam' for when our order was called," Niall's friend says as they walk out the door, and Zayn wants to kick himself in the face. Harry links an arm around his shoulder.

"So what's it like to find your _soul mate_ , Zayn?"

* * *

"Did you see _Niall_ today?" Louis asks after Zayn's managed to get through an entire meal without mentioning the tiny boy once. He's surprised Louis bothered to ask since normally he rolls his eyes every time Zayn tries to talk about his porcelain little face, or his brilliant blue eyes, or his _adorable_ bowties, but then Zayn realizes he probably only wants to hear so he can make fun of him some more.

"Yes," he answered simply, and Louis groans.

"There's gotta be more than that! What did he _do_?! Did he _say_ anything? Did he say he _needed you_ , again?" Louis asked, and Zayn flushed.

"He never said he needed me. He said he needed his coffee, and therefore, by extension, he needed me," Zayn clarified. They're in the coffee shop, God knows why. Zayn's been spending more and more time here since Niall started coming, and it's not like the café didn't have good bagels and stuff, and there's pizza next door, and it's quiet enough to draw, and-

Okay, shut up, so he was only here for Niall…

"You know? You've been at this whole stalker thing for about two weeks now. You could probably actually _talk_ to him at this point," Louis informs him, and Zayn flushes.

"I _talk_ to him!" he says defensively, though he can't look Louis in the eye and instead turns his gaze down to the scone he's picking at. Harry, who's listening at the register, laughs out loud.

"Zayn. 'N-n-ni-niall' doesn't count as talking, mate," Harry giggles, and Louis snorts.

"Yeah. Don't be another one of those dumb baristas who creeps from across the counter and lets the love of their life pass by, never indulging in a real conversation with the oh-so sexy object of their affections," Louis says pointedly, and Harry tosses a croissant at his head.

"Oi, I talked you eventually!" Harry defended himself, and Louis stuck his tongue out at him.

"You should just be glad I'm patient," his roommate responded, and Zayn pulled out his sketchbook, deciding he'd rather drown in a world of messy blond tips and freckle-dusted skin than watch Harry and Louis snog in the corner.

* * *

Niall stops getting his coffee to go and starts sitting down at the table by the little porthole window they have on the opposite side of the lounge, and Zayn falls in love with him a little more. That's his favorite spot to sit, too.

Everything he draws is a mess of blond and brunette paired with piercing blue.

* * *

Niall always seems to come with a little tornado of paper. Sometimes he spreads out across three tables because he has so much of it. Niall also has an abundance of orange pens on his person at any given time, and Zayn discovers that he quite likes writing in orange as well. He doesn't know why he likes it, but he does. Maybe Niall would know.

He wants to ask. He wants to ask Niall everything: more than just why all the orange. He wants to ask about the bowties, and the paper, and the dorky-looking brown-eyed boy named Liam who Zayn doesn't want to acknowledge because he's scared of how Niall might know him. (What if they're boyfriends?) So he has Harry ask all of his questions for him.

Niall is a _professor of literature_. Zayn takes up night classes.

Niall thinks bowties are _cool_. Zayn starts buying them, but he fumbles when he tries to tie the knot.

Niall and Liam are just best friends, but Liam doesn't want to leave Niall alone because apparently he's worried about "Niall being hurt again" whatever the hell that meant. Zayn kinda wants to cry himself to sleep at night because he thinks about how their not boyfriends and realizes that " _it's only a matter of time_ ".

"Seriously," Harry drawls, wiping out a glass mug, "Why don't you just talk to him? He's tiny and _cute_ , he's not going to bite."

"Don't be ridiculous." Zayn snorts, playing with the edge of his frayed sleeve, "I'm not worried about Niall, I'm worried about his guard dog slash best friend with the glasses. Besides, I'm just a barista that spends his spare time in the cafe he works in, and he's a _professor_ , at his age! Don't tell me what to do."

"You're the one that's ridiculous. He likes you, I swear." Harry puts the glass mug down and places a mint that's too expensive for Niall's coffee upon the saucer, "I'm even giving you a good chance."

"What do you mean 'a good chance'?" Zayn asks, and Harry smirks.

"Either you start talking to him, or Lou and I start playing match maker," he answers, and Zayn can _feel_ himself pale. Harry slips the saucer and mug into his hands with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face because he _knows_ he's got him, and before Zayn can figure a way out of it, he's pushed Liam's current scone into his free hand and shoves him out of the kitchen.

Zayn's thinking a lot of things on the way over to Niall's table, but the last thing he _wants_ to be thinking about is how much he _hates_ current scones and how _stupid_ Liam is for eating them, and it unfortunately seems to be the only prominent thought in his brain.

"Um… Here's your coffee," Zayn somehow manages to say, and Niall looks up from the essays he's grading in orange pen, and beams at Zayn.

"You're out from behind the counter!" Niall says excitedly, and Zayn puts down Liam's disgusting scone and Niall's mug, and he scratches the back of his neck. He feels awkward and nervous, and this is terrible. And then, _then_ , before he can stop himself, he has to ask; he has to.

"Why do you use orange ink?" he asks, pointing to the paper Niall's grading, and the younger lad smiles.

"Because everyone uses red for _everything_ , and no one uses orange for _anything_ ," Niall answers, gesturing about the room, and Zayn can't help but notice he works in a café full of red upholstered chairs, and not a single orange one. He doesn't even think he owns an orange shirt. "'S why Ireland is better than England. You've got red in your flag, and we've got orange."

Zayn tries to say something back, he really does, but then there's _Liam_ , swooping in to whisk Niall's attention away. "Oi! No getting into racist debates over the dinner table!" Liam scolds, and suddenly, Zayn's a third wheel. Niall giggles.

"What do you want from me? I'm grading essays on _Jonathan Swift_ ; I'm feeling ethnocentric and witty," he replied, turning from Zayn and effectively shutting him out, and Liam frowned.

"And soon will you be feeling cannibalistic, as well?"

Zayn slipped back to the kitchen, tears pricking his eyes though he wasn't sure why. Harry grabbed his arm as he tried to slink by. "What happened? What's wrong?" he asks, and Zayn doesn't even _know_. He takes a shaky breath and shrugs Harry off, not answering his question and diving back into the dishes he'd been cleaning earlier.

He draws Niall seventeen times that afternoon while Harry looks on with worried eyes, but each one is crap and stained with hopeless tears. Zayn's not a crybaby; he's not. He's just realizing that he doesn't have a prayer, and it all kind of sucks.

Stupid dorky-looking brown-eyed kid with his stupid glasses.

* * *

Zayn doesn't know who Jonathan Swift is, so he looks him up when he gets home. He's confused at first, because he thought Niall taught literature. But then he finds out that J-Swifty, as Zayn had fondly been calling him, is apparently, like, the king of satire or some shit, and there's his proposal of his that's all over the fucking place –kind of like Niall because Niall is always popping up, and completely unavoidable, and _everywhere._

It's called "A Modest Proposal For Preventing the Children of Poor People From Being a Burthen to Their Parents or the Country, and For Making Them Beneficial to the Public". It's written in 1729, and that plus the title make Zayn pissed off already because – _ugh-_ old writing and – _ugh_ \- this guy is an asshole. And then Zayn starts reading and he's even _more_ pissed because apparently J-Swifty thinks "that a young healthy child, well nursed, is at a year old a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether _stewed, roasted, baked,_ or _boiled_ ".

He understands that Swift is Irish, but he has no idea why he would ever make Niall feel proud of his heritage.

But then he remembers, oh, yeah, king of satire, and he rereads the passage, and Zayn gets why Niall wouldn't mind grading three hundred papers on him. He gets that Swift is frustrated and mocking the UK because they weren't helping his country out, and now he wishes he was Irish, too, because it shouldn't have taken a proposal to eat children for England to help out with all their poverty problems and shit.

And then Zayn remembers Niall walking in that first day, and talking about Alice Munro. Actually, Zayn remembers all thirty-eight words. All thirty-eight because at the time, Zayn had been positive he was going to marry Niall, and now he's pretty sure that Niall's gonna marry Liam, unfortunately.

He reads all of _Open Secrets_ and discovers that he agrees with Niall and Alice is, in fact, fucking boring. If he reads one more dull love story about a helpless man and a strong woman, he's gonna lose it.

In fact, he might already lose it because it's already four in the morning, and he's stayed up reading solely to get Niall off his mind, and it didn't work at all because Niall is the one who gave him all these ideas for books anyway.

* * *

Niall doesn't come that day, or the next, or the next, and Zayn feels hopelessly abandoned.

* * *

"And where were you at?" Harry asks Niall when he shows up on Monday, and Niall blushes.

"It was spring break and Liam invited me down to his parent's house in Spain," Niall answers. "I think he only asked me because I speak Spanish. Anyway. It's good to know I was missed." Harry grunts in response, and Zayn feels bad because normally Harry is on his best behavior around Niall, but because the adorable professor basically rejected even conversation with him, Harry's being a bit curt.

"'Missed' isn't the right word," Harry replies. Niall's face falls, and Zayn half wants to wrap him up in a hug and half wants to keep standing there in awe of the fact that, holy shit, Niall speaks _Spanish_ , and that's actually kind of hot. "White chocolate mocha?" Harry drawls, and Niall nods.

"To go."

"Great. Try not to spit in it, Zayn."

When Zayn calls Niall's name the bowtie clad boy meets him at the counter with a frown. "Did I do something wrong?" he asks, and he looks so genuine, and so apologetic, and so upset. Zayn lifts his hat and threads his hands through his hair even though he's in a kitchen. He frowns and hands Niall his coffee like it's a peace offering.

"No," Zayn says honestly. "You've… you've just done everything right."

Niall throws him a look. "Right… well, I'm sorry. For whatever it is I did so horribly correctly," he says earnestly, and Zayn nods because he doesn't know what to say back, and Niall leaves, _The Great Gatsby_ by F. Fitzgerald sticking out of his messenger bag. At least Zayn now knows what he's reading tonight.

* * *

"Are you sure you wanna do that? You were up late last night…" Louis says, eyeing Zayn sprawled out on his bed with the latest book he's seen Niall reading. This time it's "Things Fall Apart" and it's actually not that bad. Like… Okonkwo is an ass for beating his wives and being so stubborn, but it's a different culture so Zayn is still keeping an open mind.

"I can't go to sleep," he answered brusquely because some serious, deep tribal shit was going down, and it obviously required his full attention. Louis clasped his hands together, batting his eyelashes.

"Too consumed with thoughts of _Ni~all?_ " Louis sang, and Zayn frowned.

"Yes, but not in the way that you think." Zayn tried to go back to his book (the tribe was exiling Okonkwo and his entire family, okay?), but Louis seemed determined to talk to him. He bounced onto his bed and cuddled into his side.

"Let me guess. Instead of thinking about Niall's ' _brilliant blue eyes'_ like usual, you're thinking about his massive fucking intellect. And that's why you've got this boring book in your hands, yeah?" Louis asked, and Zayn kind of wants to punch him. Because that's exactly what he's trying not to do and failing so miserably at.

"Leave me alone, Louis," he whines, and the other boy latched around his waist, instead.

"You've given up too fast, Zaynie. I'm sure he didn't mean to blow you off. And, I mean, you approached him as a waiter. You still have a chance!" Louis exclaims, and suddenly, Zayn wishes he lived in Nigeria like Okonkwo because then he could just… buy Niall with some yams. And all these problems wouldn't be so big or consuming. When he doesn't respond, Zayn nudges him in the side. "Come _on_. He's you're _soul mate_. Don't you just love his eyes? How blue are they again?"

Zayn buries his face in his pillow. " _So blue_."

"And how well do you think he could fit in your lap, again?"

" _So well_."

"And isn't he cute, and small, and tiny, and perfect, and soon to be yours?" Louis asked, and Zayn groaned.

"Everything but the soon to be mine part," he moans, and Louis sighs.

"Fine, be like that. But don't say I didn't warn you."

* * *

"Hey, Zayn! Have you met Niall?" Louis calls out from across the café, and Zayn actually wants to shoot himself. He knew –he _knew_ \- no good could come from Louis talking to Niall. But he didn't do anything because Niall is just so… _aaaah_ , and talking to him is all like… _AAAAAAH._

Don't judge him, okay? Niall's the professor. Zayn is a _barista_.

He walks over to where Louis and Niall are standing, trying desperately not to strangle the Lou or his fucking boyfriend, Harry, who is busy chatting up and distracting Liam.

"I think we've crossed paths once or twice," Niall says because Zayn's too stunned to move, much less _say_ anything. The smaller lad reaches a hand out to shake Zayn's, and he kind of wants to laugh because _holy fuck, touching Niall_ and also, Niall looks sort of like a little kid playing grown-up with his bowtie and his attempt at a handshake. Zayn looks helplessly at Louis.

"Lou…" he breathes, hoping the other boy will just take Niall away because Zayn kinda loves him, and is kinda too scared to talk to him, and has kinda stalked his reading list for a while now, and also kinda painted his bedroom orange because of the kid, and this is just… It's not good, really. He can't talk to him. He needs Lou to kill him off or hit him upside the head with a rock or something.

"No, _Niall_ ," Louis corrects, and Zayn's never wanted to smack him more. "You make his coffee sometimes, remember?" Zayn seriously wants to hit him. There's an awkward silence that falls between the three of them because Zayn has most definitely made Niall uncomfortable, and Louis is waiting for him to say something, but Zayn isn't going to, so… oops. Eventually, Lou clapped his hands together. "Well. You two seem to have some… _history_. Maybe you should work it out." Lou walks away and Niall arches an eyebrow.

"We don't have _history_ , do we?" he asks, panic lining his voice, and Zayn wants to melt because he's so fucking cute, and sunshiney, and he hates seeing a frown on his face because as far as Zayn's known him, he has only looked the slightest uncertain when Harry was rude to him as far as negative emotions go.

"No, but um… No. It's fine. Niall." Zayn sort of hopes the ground swallows him up. Niall nods.

"That's good. Because I wouldn't want you to be mad at me. Not when we haven't gone on a proper date, yet." Niall kicks at the ground, and Zayn's face falls.

"What."

"Louis said you might wanna catch a film sometime?"

"What."

Niall's face turned pinker than pink. Even his ears went red, and Zayn had never wanted to reach out and touch _more_. "Well… maybe he was pulling my leg, eh? I mean, all the stuff he said about the drawings did seem pretty far fetched…" Niall trailed off, and Zayn blanched.

"What did he say about the drawings?" Zayn asked because no one was supposed to see his sketches, let alone tell people about them. God, what had he ever done to Louis? He thought they were _friends_.

"He said that you were… were and artist and that… that you've drawn all these portraits of me…" Zayn doesn't say anything, and Niall bites his lip. "Right, I'm sorry, I just… shit. Sorry, not shit, like… _shit_ shit. Just… I wouldn't have minded, you know? If you, like… drew pictures. I wouldn't have minded. That would actually… This sounds stupid and probably _extremely_ clichéd, but you're kind of the cute barista I crush on over the counter, and so… yeah. I wouldn't have minded. I'm sorry, this is dumb, you're totally not interested in me, we've barely said three words, and I've always been way too awkward to say more than a sentence to you any given day, I just… I think you're… Well, I think you're somewhat beautiful, and sometimes you look at me, and I just… and the way you say my name is just… I don't know, but everything you do is amazing, and sometimes I see you all tucked against the porthole window with a novel, and that one time after I was just so uncomfortable you went back to the kitchen, and you were drawing, and I think I might have made you cry, and I thought you hated me, and… Oh, God. Look at me, I'm supposed to teach literature, and I can't even form a proper sentence, I'm just gonna go-"

"No!" Zayn yelps, quickly grabbing the flustered boy's wrist because the last thing he _ever_ wants is for Niall to go away. He sort of feels like every part of him is exploding all at once, and he can't let Niall just _leave_.

"Oh, God, please let me go, I'm so embarrassing, and I'm _so_ sorry, I just… This is stupid; this is _so stupid_."

"It's not stupid," Zayn says quickly, and Niall's eyes flicker to meet his, and it's funny how that actually happens once a day, but it's never made Zayn feel so _hopeful_ before. "I just… Can you wait here? Just for two seconds? I just have to grab something from behind the counter, okay?" Zayn waits for Niall to nod and he darts off, snatching his sketchbook and taking a deep breath before shoving it into Niall's hands. "I do draw you."

Niall's breath hitches when he opens up to the first page, and Zayn's not sure what to do with himself because he's drawn Niall a hundred ways for a hundred reasons, and he's not sure he wants Niall to know them all yet. "A lot of these are orange," Niall says after an eternity of flipping through pictures.

"It just… that's what you used, and… it reminded me of you, and… I kinda thought that anything you did would be good enough for me, if that makes sense," Zayn explains as he flushes a deep red. Niall looks lost so he continues to explain. "Like… On the first day you came you were talking about Alice Munro, so, I mean, I read _Open Secrets_. Or that one time when you were reading Jonathan Swift…" Niall laughs out loud.

"Oh my gosh, you can't have gotten a good impression of me after that," he cracks, and Zayn shakes his head furiously.

"No, no! I thought he was brilliant! I love the whole thought process behind him. Like… not taking no for an answer and not being afraid of calling people out? That's so cool!" Niall stops laughing, and he looks his gaze with Zayn's again, and he almost wishes Niall would go back to giggling in humiliation.

"So does that mean you _would_ like to go on a date with me?" Niall asked uncertainly, and Zayn looked to the ground, more than a little humbled.

"I'd love to," he whispered, and Niall smiled.

"Good. I was growing sick of the counter getting in between us."


End file.
